My Freedom is Your Prison
by Noxbait
Summary: Set after the S13 finale. Sam was free because Dean wasn't.


**This is set after the s13 finale. It will, of course, become AU in like 56 days when s14 premieres haha. But I tried my best to write all of my post s13-pre s14 fics in a way that they (hopefully) should still fit within whatever becomes canon for this time period. I think that however they handle this time period, they'll all still be (at least mostly) relevant and believable. :) And if they're not, oh well! lol. I tried. ;)**

 **So here ya go, the first of three stories set in this time frame. Enjoy!**

* * *

 _ **My Freedom is Your Prison**_

* * *

It didn't really hit him until hours later.

None of it did.

And how could it? The entire day had been a blur. A blur of pulse pounding terror, soul-crushing sorrow and so many other emotions.

Fear.

Horror.

Pain.

Hope.

Relief.

Vengeance.

Indescribable joy.

Unfathomable loss.

So much had happened and he hadn't had even a moment to begin processing any of it.

It all hit Sam late that night, or early that morning; he'd lost all track of time.

He'd been coping. He'd been calm and collected. Maybe _too_ calm and _too_ collected.

Or maybe it wasn't that he'd been calm or collected at all; merely so drained that he hadn't been able to have a reaction other than detachment.

Either way, he'd managed to hold himself together in the confused and shocking aftermath of what had happened in the church. He'd done a basic patch-up job to keep Jack going until they reached the bunker. And then he'd given everyone the highlights of what had happened in the church.

Lucifer was dead.

Dean was gone.

His world had imploded yet again and mere words could not even begin to express what that meant. None of them would understand. Except, maybe they _did._ Jack had lost his mother, Mary had lost John, and Cas...Cas of all people would understand what it meant to lose Dean. So maybe it was unfair of him to think he was the only one feeling the sharp pain in his heart.

Shock and grief had swept through the room like a tidal wave when he'd finished telling them what had happened. He should have been able to help them. To tell them he had a plan. Tell them they would get Dean back. But he couldn't.

Because he wasn't sure they would _ever_ get Dean back.

And that realization was finally the thing he couldn't handle.

He asked Cas to look out for Jack even though the angel was still weakened from the devastating blow Michael had dealt him earlier.

And then Sam walked out of the room and ignored every single voice calling his name.

There was nothing to say.

Nothing _anyone_ could say that could make this right.

He walked away from Cas and Jack and Mary and a Bobby who wasn't even _their_ Bobby but who was so familiar it made his heart ache with longing.

Sam ignored them all and walked through the halls of the Bunker.

Their home.

Or at least it once had been their home. For a brief, beautiful span of time before the devil, the British, uninvited archangels and demons had strolled in unannounced and taken the _safe_ right out of their safe-haven.

It hurt.

It hurt more than the loss of any other home he'd ever known. Hurt more than losing the trendy apartment and the beautiful girl he'd loved so long ago. Hurt more than losing Bobby's big, drafty, messy, familiar home.

It hurt more because this was _their_ home - his and Dean's. The first home they'd ever had to themselves and for themselves.

Now he wasn't sure what it was.

It was cold and dark and empty even if there were more people living within its walls than had lived there in decades.

Filled to the brim with people, it was empty.

So empty.

Just like his soul.

Sam found himself in his brother's room.

He didn't turn on the lights. Pulled the door closed. Locked the door.

And then he sat on the edge of Dean's stupid wonderful memory foam mattress that he loved so much.

Sam sat there in the silent dark and couldn't think or feel or do anything except breathe. He wasn't even sure he was doing that. How could he be breathing when the very oxygen had been stolen from his world? Was his heart even beating? Blood flowing through his veins? How could the blood flow, the heart pump, when life had already fled his body? What was the point, even? What was the point of his body bothering to function at all when his soul, his hope, his very reason for existence had been stolen from him?

Sam stretched out on the bed, burying his face in the pillow.

Alone.

He was so alone.

Dean was gone and he was alone.

It was New Harmony and Lilith and hellhounds.

It was SucroCorp and Leviathans and Purgatory.

It was the Mark of Cain and Metatron and this very room - empty - where Dean should have been.

Dean was gone and Sam was alone.

He didn't move, barely breathed. By the time he finally shifted onto his side, hours had passed and his muscles were tight and sore. Pain broke through the void and, in an instant, he went from feeling nothing to feeling everything.

Lucifer was dead.

Dean had killed him.

Michael had taken Dean.

Sam was dead.

No, that wasn't right. Was it?

Opening his eyes, he stared into darkness.

Lucifer was dead.

Dean had killed him.

Michael had taken Dean.

Sam was free because Dean wasn't. Dean was a prisoner and Sam wasn't. Sam's heart ached with gratitude and anguish.

He had to get Dean back. Get Michael to release him. Had to find a way to defeat another archangel. Had to find Dean. Had to _save_ Dean like Dean had saved him.

Save Dean.

Save Dean.

 _Save Dean._

There was so much he needed to do but he didn't even know where to start. Sam sat up and pressed his fists against his pounding head.

All he could think about was the agony Dean must surely be enduring right now. The agony of possession. The agony of being somehow within yourself and yet not yourself. The agony of being a prisoner in your own body. It was an agony he was painfully familiar with and had never in a million years wanted his brother to experience or have to comprehend.

And the, despite the deep sorrow over what Dean was experiencing, Sam was selfishly filled with joy as he relived the moment of Lucifer's death. The moment when everything had been right in the world. The moment when, for the first time in as long as he could remember, he'd been _free_.

In retrospect it had been stupid of him to even waste those few precious seconds on something so fleeting as mere happiness.

Sam replayed the image of Dean's smile when they'd both realized Lucifer was dead and gone forever. He needed to memorize that image. Save it forever. Dean had said _they'd_ killed him, but Sam only saw Dean dealing the death-blow. Only saw his big brother leveraging an archangel's powers to defeat Sam's worst nightmare.  
Dean had done this for _him_.

Years ago, despite pressure on every side, Dean had resolutely-and repeatedly- said _no_ to the Michael of their world. He'd said no and saved the world. Today, he'd said yes and it hadn't been to save the world.

It had been to save his little brother.

Sharp pain ran around Sam's chest and up and down his back as he sucked in unsteady breaths. Maybe his ribs were cracked. He didn't care. Earlier his only concern had been getting Jack to safety and healing. He hadn't even realized he was injured. What did it matter if he was sore when Dean was a prisoner in his own body?  
The thought alone had nightmarish images lighting his mind like flares shot off at close range. Images of the Cage. Images of everything _since_ the Cage. Images of his tormentor finally, beautifully _dead_ on the ground in front of him.

It was an empty victory now.

The only thing that mattered was getting his brother back.

Sam prayed Dean would understand. Hoped Dean could forgive him for wasting so much time. Because, as much as he knew he needed to get up right now and get to work, he couldn't. He just couldn't. It was weakness. Pathetic weakness.

A soft knock on the door drew him out of the dismal quagmire of his thoughts. He straightened and stared at the door, not ready to admit he was in the room let alone allow anyone to enter.

"Sam?"

It was Jack. His voice so quiet that Sam almost missed it.

The last thing he wanted to do was talk. To anyone. But he couldn't ignore the kid. Jack was completely lost. So he pushed himself wearily to his feet and opened the door. He had to blink a couple times to adjust to the bright light in the hallway after sitting in the dark for so long.

"Sam?"

"Hey, Jack," Sam said, rubbing his eyes and attempting to look more alert than he felt. "What's up?"

Jack tilted his head in a very Cas-like way. He was frowning. The poor kid had been frowning ever since Michael had winged off with Dean. He was pale and stressed and sick and dead on his feet.

"Come sit down." Sam tugged his sleeve and drew him into the room. Once he was settled on the bed, Sam turned on a lamp and closed the door. Sitting down next to Jack, he asked, "Are you alright?"

"I don't know." He sounded utterly bewildered. Eyes wide, he asked, "Will we ever see Dean again?"

"Yes," Sam answered automatically. Sitting alone in the dark, he really hadn't been sure. He _still_ wasn't sure. But uncertainty wasn't going to help Jack. So, even though he didn't quite have the strength to believe, he said, "We're going to get him back."

Jack was silent for a long time, staring at the ground. When he spoke, he sounded sad, but determined. "We will. Together."

Sam wanted to smile at the innocent hope, but couldn't. He'd had that innocent hope many times before and wasn't sure he had any left. But he nodded, even though his heart was filled with doubt.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you alright?" The concern in Jack's tone was more painful than any of Lucifer's blows in the church had been.

Tears stung his eyes, but Sam didn't allow them to fall. Taking a deep breath, he answered honestly, "Not really."

"Me either." Jack's voice was a whisper.

Arms wrapped around his chest, he was hunched in on himself and a few tears were slowly running down his face. A picture of pure misery. Sam studied him, his own misery and hopelessness threatening to drag him under. He'd done a lot of things wrong in his life, but this was something he was starting to get right. And he wasn't going to screw it up now.

So he gently pulled Jack into a hug.

Jack melted against him, his hands fisting in Sam's shirt as he cried. Staring at the wall, Sam refused to give into the grief and blinked back his own tears. Even now, after everything, it was a little confusing to be this close - to _care_ this much - about the child of the monster who had abused him in every way possible. But he _did_ care and maybe it was some sort of cosmic therapy for him to be able to help guide Jack through life after the crappy hand the kid had been dealt.

Therapy or not, it felt good to have someone to hold onto. Someone to take care of and protect. Someone whose heart was as broken as his was. He thought about Cas and his mom. Of Jody and the girls. A lot of hearts were broken right now.

They had to find Dean. It was the only thing that mattered. The only thing that was important.

Sam looked down at Jack, still clinging to him and softly crying.

Finding his brother was important, but so was this. This was exactly what he needed to do right now. It had been mere hours since everything had happened. He needed to spend a little time picking up the pieces around him before he could hope to get his missingpiece back.

Dean was the strongest person he'd ever known. If anyone could deal with Michael and come out on the other side unscathed, it was Dean. At least that's what Sam was going to choose to believe.

Resting his chin on the top of Jack's head, he closed his eyes and thought about his brother. A prisoner of an archangel. And then he thought of a different archangel. One that was dead on the ground; a burnt out husk. Dead and gone and never, _ever_ going to come back. Never, _ever_ going to look at him or threaten him or touch him again.

Relief triumphed over the fear and he almost couldn't breathe through the utter, unspeakable, unfathomable solace that filled every corner of his ruined heart and soul.

He thought of the moment Dean had killed Lucifer and he smiled.

* * *

 **Couldn't help but write this after thinking about the possible ways things could go in the immediate aftermath of Michael taking off with Dean. Hopefully however things turn out, this little scene will still be plausible.**

 **Also, I just really, really needed someone to hug Jack, ok? :) And Sam. Sigh. I _always_ want someone to hug Sam (I'd volunteer, of course, heehee). Hope you enjoyed it!**

 **I have another post S13/pre S14 oneshot that I'll post on Monday. Thanks for reading and have a great rest of your week/weekend!**


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